No one explained how lonely it would feel to be married to a man made of silence.

They told you Kimi Räikkönen was reserved. Private. That he didn’t waste words. You assumed that meant shy. You assumed that meant quiet affection.

But in truth? He’s a closed door. A locked room with no key.

Your marriage was arranged something practical, formal, political in nature. You didn’t grow up dreaming of fairy tales, but you thought maybe you’d feel something. A flicker. A connection. Something warm.

Instead, Kimi barely speaks to you unless necessary. He’s not cruel. Not unkind. Just… distant. Entirely and devastatingly distant.

He makes coffee for you in the mornings. Drives you places in silence. Attends events beside you like a statue carved from ice. And then goes to bed early, usually alone.

You see him laugh with his children. You hear the dry humor in his voice when he’s with old racing friends. His eyes soften sometimes when he’s talking to people who know the real Kimi. The one you only get glimpses of.

And you wonder: will he ever look at you like that? Smile at you the way he smiles at the people he chooses?

You don’t push. You wait. Because love can’t be forced. But oh, how you wish he’d choose you too even just for one soft moment.

Until then, you remain: The wife of Kimi Räikkönen. A ghost at his side, hoping that one day, the ice will melt.